Welcome to MWT where my author friends and I post a little something from a WIP, flash fiction piece or from some of our published work for you, the readers. This week I'm give you a peek at one of my newest releases, The Shamrock Incident included in the For the Love of Murphy anthology. Hope you enjoy.
Trey Cleary didn’t think his day could get any worse, but since he was gripping
what remained of his side view mirror, he decided he was wrong. Glancing up from his spot
on the sidewalk, he read the sign hanging overtop the flower shop.
Pocket Full of Posies
The name matched the one printed in fancy font on the back of the silver van that
maimed his car. He’d caught only part of the address as the vehicle whizzed out of the
parking garage. Nonetheless, he was at the right shop. He had to be. Even though
Charlotte was a big city, there couldn’t be another store with such a whimsical name.
And, if there was, he’d bet money both were owned by the same person. Of course, he’d
usually look things like that up on his iPhone. However, his handy-dandy phone had turned
into an expensive tank decoration after it accidently slid out of his shirt pocket, and into the
one hundred and eighty gallon aquarium he’d been hassling with in his store that morning. It
slept with the fishes. Literally.
Trying not to show his irritation with all the aggravating events of the day, he took
a deep, cleansing breath. He’d calmly speak with the owner about his BMW’s missing
side view mirror, get their insurance information, and go grab something to eat.
His stomach grumbled and he glanced at his wrist watch. The lunch hour had
long passed. "I knew I should have taken Dad up on his donut offer this morning," he
Trey stepped inside the store and did a double take. He wasn’t a stranger to a
retail establishment with lots of stock. Heck, his own store was well-stocked, but this
shop overflowed with merchandise.
"Holy shamrocks, Batman," he said under his breath.
The place had been totally decked out for the current holiday. Shamrock
ornaments dangled from the ceiling tiles as far as the eye could see. Green twinkle
lights blinked on and off and were draped across shelves of stuffed toys, knickknacks,
boxes of candy, and a plethora of homemade, North Carolina candles in a jar.
According to the signage, they came in fifty-six pleasing scents.
He took a couple of steps forward and stopped. A "Luck of the Irish" banner and
cardboard leprechauns were stuck to the glass doors of a commercial cooling unit that
contained freshly cut flowers. Some sort of spiky plant grew from the inside of old
cowboy boots scattered on the floor. They had been placed everywhere in random
groupings of two as if someone had kicked them off and left them where they stood.
He cleared his throat. He wasn’t there to sightsee, nor was he in the market for
flowers and frou-frou things. He was there to do something about his poor vehicle.
Although, before he could do anything about that, he had to figure out where the owner
He switched the mirror to his left hand and scratched the back of his head. There
was very little in the way of designated walking paths. He couldn’t proceed forward
unless he squeezed between a free-standing shelving unit and a massive refrigerator.
Customers should have been given a map to help them maneuver through the store.
He took a right down a trail of some sort. "Hello?" Nothing resembled a customer
service desk or point of sale. "Is anyone here?"
"I’ll be right with you."
He turned in the direction of the small muffled voice and walked past a bunch of
colorful, helium-filled latex balloons tied off to a vivid red air tank. They swayed in the
breeze and bounced against each other, making a hollow, drum-like bopping sound as
he passed. A few more steps and he made another turn. To his left, a tall greeting card
stand crowded the narrow path. He hoped it was the last large obstacle.
As soon as he side-stepped around the stand, he felt like throwing a victory fist in
the air. Not too far in front of him, stood a counter with a cash register. And beside
that—an open door. He headed toward the register, only to stop short.
A woman burst through the doorway and into the room like an out of control
whirling dervish. Her legs kicked. Arms flailed. Strawberry blonde hair flew around her
face. For such a petite person she made a huge entrance and took one mother of a
Roane Publishing (Print and eBook)
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